


when the wish was enough

by GreenyLove



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Library, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Memories, Divorce, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Graduate Student Kuroo Tetsurou, Kid Fic, Librarian Tsukishima Kei, Major Original Character(s), Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Kozume Kenma, OC - Kuroo Akihana, OC - Kuroo Kasumi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Recovery, She/Her Pronouns For Tsukishima Kei, Sibling Bonding, Single Parent Kuroo Tetsurou, Therapy, They/Them Pronouns for Kozume Kenma, Trans Female Character, Trans Tsukishima Kei, implied childhood neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenyLove/pseuds/GreenyLove
Summary: Kuroo Tetsurou relocates to quaint, quiet Sendai with one goal: to make life better for his daughter. That means completing his graduate thesis, earning his degree, and landing a stable job while somehow keeping a four-year-old alive and well-fed. A four-year-old who gets smarter and bolder and more amazing by the day. Change is scary, the move is hard - but Kuroo’s got ambition, friends, and a kid who relies on him. He can do this, right?But even miles away from Tokyo, familiar fears linger. How can Kuroo be a good father when his own was never around? Is he better than his own parents or doomed to repeat their mistakes? He wants the best for his kid, but he's just Kuroo.It might take a city of new friends, a chance meeting with a gorgeous stranger, and an unexpected reunion with the one person Kuroo thought lost forever to show him that "just Kuroo" is more than enough.(Or, the story of Kuroo Tetsurou, the child who teaches him to love, and the librarian who teaches him to live.)
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 39
Kudos: 87





	1. a place that once was home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! welcome to my first hq longfic! ahhhhh! 
> 
> i created a wip folder titled 'single dad kuroo' on july 4, 2020. five months and fifteen days later...it's time. 
> 
> this fic is completely outlined but not completely written. i have no update schedule, just the reassurance that beyond zine pieces, this project is my main priority. my goal is to update once per month. you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/greenywrites) for updates. 
> 
> please mind the tags! i will give more specific warnings in the author's notes when we hit the angst speedbumps. while there are lots of emotions and melancholy memories related to kuroo's childhood, the focus of the story is kuroo healing and falling in love and being disgustingly soft with tsukki. if the rating changes it will be because i decided not to fade to black on the sexy bits. :)) 
> 
> enjoy :D!!
> 
> fic title inspired by [the origin of birds](https://poets.org/poem/origin-birds) by nicole callihan.

_Tokyo_ _  
_ _Late March, 2022_

Kuroo walks into his empty apartment, mopping the sweat off his forehead before it dries in the late spring chill. He chose an unseasonably brisk day to load his life into a moving truck but when leases end, they end. He spies his best friend sprawled on the living room floor below the heating unit, nose inches away from their phone screen. They look like a dehydrated houseplant. They are also, distressingly, alone. 

“Kenma,” Kuroo sighs, “where’s my kid?” 

“With Yaku.” 

“Well, shit.”

Kenma shrugs, shoulders sliding along the carpet. Their hair is a two-toned puddle beneath their neck, limp from exertion. They tilt their chin towards the ceiling, glancing at Kuroo upside down. “Yaku said the truck is almost loaded.” 

“Kai’s wrapping up the last of it now,” Kuroo confirms. He takes the baseball hat off his head, scrubbing fingers through his bangs before raking them back under the brim. “Yaku go out back?” 

“Probably.” 

“Thanks,” Kuroo says. He points sternly and adds, “For nothing!” 

Kenma smiles faintly, eyes slipping closed as conditioned air circulates over their wilted form. “You’re welcome.” 

Kuroo mutters a few choice curses. Kenma offers only a lazy hum of agreement in return. Leaving his friend to recover, Kuroo walks through the apartment one last time. 

The rooms seem larger with nothing in them, bare walls and empty closets where just this morning there were boxes and a week before that, all the clutter of a small family making the most of a one-bedroom in urban Tokyo. Gone are the twin dressers with the half-peeled stickers and the loose knob, the toy bin and the laundry basket; the two futons, rolled out side by side every night and rolled back up in the morning; the lopsided couch, the TV, the kotatsu. Boxes of old school books from a grad program half-finished — at least, until now. 

Now, he has a little over two weeks to haul his life to Sendai, where he starts the next university term as a graduate student of Sport & Performance Psychology. 

It’s been five years since he dropped out of his masters program here in Tokyo. Almost five years since Chiho turned up at his apartment, pregnant and panicked, to ask for his help. 

Flipping on the bathroom lights, his eyes land on the edge of the western-style bathtub. That night, Chiho made her intentions clear. She had no aspirations towards motherhood, but it was too late to terminate. If Kuroo wanted the baby, she would sign over her rights and Kuroo would never hear from her again. If he didn't, the adoption would be closed. A grand mistake to close out a dying relationship. He sat in this bathroom, on the edge of this bathtub with his forehead in his hands, and decided that fatherhood was scary but running away was worse.

Does he regret dropping out? Putting school on the back burner?

He runs his fingers down the discolored patch on the door frame where he tried with limited success to remove the tick marks tracking Akihana’s height. 

Not at all. He had better things to do. 

But his kid is gonna be five years old soon. She can recognize at least ten words; she's begun to consider the wider world. When she hugged her stuffed shark and told him that she wanted to be a street magician when she grew up — well, maybe it was time for Kuroo to think about _his_ career again. 

Bedroom and bathroom clear, he pokes quickly through the kitchenette. Nothing left on the fridge, nothing in the cabinets or stuffed under the sink. He pats the atrociously orange laminate counters in solemn farewell. 

He leaves Kenma to enjoy the quiet for as long as possible, knowing they are more than capable of shutting the door and flipping the deadbolt when they come down. There’s nothing else for Kuroo to do. The property manager met him an hour ago to finalize the end of his lease. He didn’t get much of his security deposit back, but he didn’t expect to, not after the fiasco that was The Great Crayon Mural. Courtesy of one Kuroo Akihana and Haiba Lev.

Lev, who is no longer allowed to babysit but _is_ allowed to move heavy boxes. 

Kuroo steps off the elevator and looks towards the front door. It’s propped open, affording him a look at the street beyond where Kai directs Lev in unloading and reloading half the moving truck. Kuroo knows the truck was fine the way it was, but Kai is a perfectionist. If an immaculately organized flatbed is what his friend needs to make peace with Kuroo moving three hundred kilometers north, Kuroo won’t complain. 

Especially if it leaves Lev looking so harried and intimidated. 

Twerp could use some character growth.

Seeing no sign of Yaku or that small head of big curls, Kuroo wanders to the back of the building. Tucked behind the apartments is a small courtyard, nothing more than a concrete stoop and assorted shrubs and grasses that the residents attempt to care for. An unimpressive pocket of greenery in the middle of the urban jungle, but to Kuroo it will always be the site of Akihana’s first birthday, first steps, first time lighting sparklers on a warm summer night.

He finds them on the stoop.

Bokuto on the right, sleeveless tank sticking to the sweat between his shoulder blades. Yaku on the left, mid-lecture, gesturing with his hands. 

His big friend, his small friend, and between them both — the smallest of his family with the biggest monopoly on his heart. 

Akihana has both arms curled around one of Bokuto’s. A bright turquoise band-aid covers a scrape on her knee, vibrant against the warm terra-cotta of her skin. Her own hat lays abandoned on the concrete, along with her shoes. Both Akihana and Bokuto watch Yaku with wide, focused eyes. 

The tableau is endearing, until Kuroo starts to listen.

“There might come a time when your father gets lonely,” Yaku says with the serious intonation of a collegiate lecturer. “You can tell when he’s lonely because he watches a lot of nature documentaries.” 

Bokuto nods in solemn agreement. “Or he sings Fleetwood Mac.” 

Yaku points at Bokuto. “Yes. Now, Aki-chan, singing around the house if fine, but if he starts humming in public or he talks about getting a tattoo, call the non-emergency dispatch.” 

Akihana looks up at Bokuto. “What’s a _dip splash?”_

“Dis-patch.” 

Yaku frowns. “We should have written this down.” 

Clearing his throat, Kuroo crosses his arms and regards his best friends with his most shrewd, unimpressed stare. “A bold move, offering life advice to my child when you two are basically children.” 

Yaku sputters. Any retort is lost behind Akihana’s happy cheer. She climbs to her feet and runs at Kuroo, full speed. “Tou-san! Bo-ji said we could walk to the store and get a snack.” With one hand, she fists the edge of his shirt. With the other, she holds up three fingers. _“Two_ snacks!” 

Kuroo gently corrects her, smoothing down the extra digit. “Wow, Bo-ji sure says a lot of things.” To Yaku, he adds, “They’re almost done out front. Last chance to watch Lev confuse his left and right.” 

Yaku scoffs, standing up and brushing off his shorts. Akihana blinks up at Kuroo. “Can Lev-tan come to the new house?” 

“Nope. Not today,” he amends when her expression falls. Crouching down, he tucks a curl behind her ear. “But if you get your shoes back on, Bo-ji _and_ Lev-tan will take you on a snack walk.” 

Bokuto grins, throwing his arms up and cheering, “Snack walk!” Akihana immediately copies his motions. 

Just as Yaku tries to slip past, Kuroo adds loudly, “And Yaku-ji will go too, and pay for _whatever_ you want, since he’s _so concerned_ about my well-being.” 

Behind his daughter’s head, Yaku flips him off, but doesn’t do anything more than grumble out loud. It’s hard to voice any true objections in the wake of Akihana’s excitement. She lifts up one foot and lets Kuroo tug on her sneaker, hand on his shoulder for balance. 

“When you get back,” Kuroo says, tone casual, “it will be time to leave. Hop!” 

Akihana hops to her other foot and holds as still as a four-year-old can. “Just like we practiced?” 

“Yup.” He presses the velcro in place and stands up. “Except this time it’s for real.” 

He watches her brow furrow, those familiar slate grey eyes narrowing, but to his relief the crease in her forehead smoothes. She turns to where Bokuto waits at the bottom of the stoop, facing forward with his back presented. He reaches behind him, smiling over his shoulder as he wiggles his fingers. 

“Climb on, Aki-chan!” 

Without an ounce of fear, Akihana takes a running jump off the top step. If it was anyone other than Bokuto, Kuroo would worry. But Bokuto was the second human on Earth to hold her and he continues to do so with the utmost care. She lands with a thump against his back and he catches her effortlessly, tipping forward to balance his weight. He locks his arms behind his back, hands gripping the opposite elbow so his arms form a sturdy seat beneath her rear. Akihana’s hands are small against the breadth of his shoulders.

She tugs his shirt like reins, urging him up the steps. The giggling pair charge through the building, Bokuto taking exaggeratedly big and slow steps. Yaku follows, resigned but amused. 

Kuroo shoves her forgotten hat in his back pocket and glances once more around the small yard: the stone path cracked with clover, the camellia bush that won’t give up, the corner overgrown with mint. It feels a little silly, but with no one else to judge him, he bows at the waist and murmurs his own small goodbye to another place that once was home. 

When he reaches the street he finds Lev gesturing smugly at the truck, explaining something he can’t make out to an impressed Bokuto and a not-impressed-at-all Yaku. Kai rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he joins Kuroo on the front steps. 

“You’re all set.” He hands off the keys to Kuroo’s old station wagon. “Overnight bags and your document safe are in the trunk. You sure you don’t want some of us to follow you up and help unload?” 

“It’s a miracle that you could all be here this morning.” Kuroo waves at Yaku when the other man catches his attention, pointing down the street towards the konbini on the far end of the block. 

Permission granted, the snack walk begins. Combined, Bokuto and Akihana are just barely as tall as Lev, a fact that seems to delight the half-Russian based on the way he preens. At least, until Yaku kicks him in the knee, and Lev is no longer the tallest. 

Kuroo snorts. He turns back to Kai and grins. “You worked your logistics magic, so I just need to what, yank a string and the whole truck will unpack itself? I’ll be fine.” 

Kai returns his smile, laughing quietly. “If you insist.” 

“I do.” He spies Kenma slinking out the front door, wincing when the sunlight hits their eyes. Kuroo hooks an elbow over their shoulder and yanks them off-balance, straight into a one-armed hug. “Besides, if I do need help, I know my best friend Kenma will be on the first train north, right?” 

Kenma huffs, face squished against Kuroo’s side. There comes a very grumpy, “No.” 

Kuroo pretends to be offended but lets Kenma wiggle free, because he’s nice like that. 

They catch their breath and enjoy the noise of Tokyo in the afternoon until the group returns. Bokuto and Lev toss peanuts up into the air, catching them in their mouths. Akiahna holds onto Yaku’s hand, giggling loudly at their antics. Lev misses a catch and squawks when the peanut bounces off his forehead. He nearly falls backwards trying to save it from the storm drain. Yaku cackles when he nearly eats concrete. 

The sight makes Kuroo smile, even as he rubs the heel of his hand against his chest where it’s suddenly hard to breathe. 

“You don’t have to worry,” Kenma says. 

“I’m not worried,” Kuroo shoots back. He catches himself spinning the car keys around his index finger and forces himself to stop. He exhales loudly. “I’m a little worried.” 

Kenma watches him sidelong, assessing. “This isn’t the same.” 

They don’t need to elaborate. _You are not your parents_ , goes unspoken. 

“You’ve all been in her life since Day One.” Kuroo sighs. He yanks off his cap, runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Now I’m uprooting us? Moving her hours away?” 

Kenma picks at their nails where black nail polish starts to chip. “We don’t have to be in her daily life to be _part_ of her life. Video calls exist.” 

With a fortifying hand on his shoulder, Kai takes over the impromptu peptalk. _“You_ are her world, Kuroo,” he says calmly. “Akihana will be fine as long as she has you. As long as you have each other.” 

Just in time, Akihana breaks free from Yaku and runs the last twenty feet to reach the steps. Spared from having to respond, Kuroo swallows down the lump in his throat and smiles at his daughter as she climbs the steps. He hooks an arm around her legs and hoists her onto his lap. 

“Look!” Akihana holds out her hand, where two huge, sticky candy rings dwarf her small fingers. Red and blue food coloring stains her mouth and chin. “Two snacks!” 

“Oo, very nice,” Kuroo says with genuine appreciation. “What do you say to Yaku-ji?” 

“Thank you!” 

“And Bo-ji?” 

“Tham-shoo,” she repeats, mouth full of candy rings. 

Lev bends down, hands on his knees. He smiles wide and charming. “What about me, Aki-chan?” 

Behind him, Yaku mouths something. Akihana pops the candy out of her mouth and says, “Get good, bub!” 

Yaku and Bokuto burst into laughter as Lev reels back, face contorting in dismay. 

Kenma snorts and shrugs. “Close enough.” 

Kuroo laughs quietly. He rests his chin on top of Akihana’s head, blowing one of her flyaway curls out of the way when it threatens to go up his nose. He watches his friends laugh and talk; even Kenma comes out of their shell when Bokuto presents them with a package of banana chips. It feels like any other weekend morning spent in the company of his small oddball family. 

Except he has his car key instead of a house key, and the flatbed looms tall and anticipatory on the street behind them. Eventually, all eyes drift to him. Bokuto’s smile goes wistful. 

Yaku scowls. “Oi, don’t go all melancholy drama queen on us. You’ve got a long drive. Let’s do this.” 

Akihana twists in his lap until she can look at Kuroo directly. “Is it time to go?” 

“Yup.” He lifts her up and stands. “Okay. Lead the way, jellybean.” 

It’s sort of marvelous, watching four grown men and one grown Kenma bend so easily to the whims of a small kid as Akihana tugs and shoves them to stand shoulder to shoulder in a line down the sidewalk. Then again, that’s not just any kid — that’s _his_ kid. He’s never been accused of shyness and neither has Akihana. She’s had them wrapped around her finger since her first gummy, toothless smile. 

When all five of her people stand at the ready, Akihana takes her place in the middle and pulls Kuroo to stand beside her, slipping her candy-free hand into his. 

“Okay, we gotta say bye to the old house,” she orders. Peering down the line, she looks pointedly at Kenma where they already fidget faintly in embarrassment. “You gotta say it like you _mean it,_ okay?” 

Kuroo squeezes her hand and counts them in. As one, they bow at the waist and say, “Thank you for the memories, house!” 

When they rise, Kuroo ruffles her hair. He steps out of the line and rubs his hands together. “Okay, step two! Ten second hugs.” Akihana runs to the end and squats down like a runner at the starting line. She bounces on her feet, so serious it makes Kuroo grin. “Ready...go!” 

Akihana charges from person to person. First is Kai, who kisses her forehead. Then Lev, who gives her as many high tens as they can do in ten seconds. Then Yaku, who hugs her tight and spins her around. Kenma, who pats her affectionately on the head. Finally Bokuto, who tosses her into the air, shrieking and gleeful, before catching her in a long hug, nose buried in her curls. 

“Yo, ten seconds only!” Yaku objects. “No fair.” 

“Totally fair!” Bokuto calls back. “I’m her favorite. Right, Aki-chan?” 

She gives him a thumbs up. “Right.” 

Yaku rolls his eyes. “Aki-chan, _I’m_ your favorite. Right?” 

Another thumbs up. “Right.” 

Kuroo scoops her out of Bokuto’s arms and sets her on her feet with a glare that says _this argument is irrelevant as the favorite is clearly me._ He takes his daughter’s hand and prompts her gently. “One last step.” 

Hand in hand, the pair turn to face their dearest friends. They bow deeply. 

“Thank you for your support! Please visit soon!” 

They are barely upright before Bokuto catches them both in his arms and crushes them against his chest. It takes several more rounds of hugs and cheek kisses and pats on the back before Kuroo gets Akihana loaded into the car. She buckles her own seatbelt and Kuroo checks it. 

He rests his forearm against the roof, other hand on his hip. “Got your water?” 

“Yes!”

“Games?”

She pats the tablet in her lap. “Yes!” 

“Both shoes?” 

“Yes!” she laughs, kicking up her feet to prove it. 

“That’s my jellybean.” Kuroo grins. “Let’s hit the road.”

He shuts the door. Bokuto hovers, teary-eyed; Kuroo points accusingly. “Do not start.” 

His best friend leaps forward, catching him in a hug so tight he feels his spine crack. Kuroo returns it wholeheartedly. His eyes get hot and if there are tears on his cheeks when they pull apart, no one calls him on it. 

“Call us when you get there,” Kai says. 

Lev waves. “Drive safely!” 

“Don’t get lost!” Yaku smirks. 

Kenma simply smiles. “See you later, Kuroo.” 

The tightness in his chest lessens its grip on his heart. It will take more than three hundred kilometers and a new zip code to crack the bond he has with these humans. There will be video calls and letters and trips down to visit. Sendai is only a train ride away. 

Kuroo pats the roof of the station wagon and climbs into the driver’s seat. Adjusting the rearview mirror, he catches Akihana’s gaze and grins. “Ready for this?” 

She grins back around the candy in her mouth. “Can we listen to _Moana?”_

Inwardly, he winces. Outwardly, he reaches for the auxiliary cord and plugs in his phone. “You sure? I made a really cool road trip playlist…” 

She wrinkles her nose. “Tou-san…” 

“You’re right,” he sighs, opening his music app. “Can’t beat _Moana.”_

A familiar melody fills the cab. Kuroo waves out the window one last time, then pulls away from the curb. The flatbed lurches into motion behind them. The group lingers, Bokuto waving over his head, until they turn at the light and disappear from view. 

Kuroo settles back into the seat. Tokyo traffic is miserable but nothing unusual. They’ve got sandwiches in the cooler tucked next to Akihana’s car seat, a tank full of gas, and a five hour drive up to Sendai. The _Moana_ soundtrack is one hour and nine minutes.... 

He glances back at Akihana and watches her mouth along to every word, kicking the back of the passenger seat to the rhythm of Polynesian drums. 

Well. Hopefully she takes a nap. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let the adventure begin! 
> 
> i hope this little prologue intrigued you. every subsequent chapter will probably be...2-3 times longer. this was just the most logical place to stop! so please anticipate much meatier updates as we get into the thick of things. >w<
> 
> i appreciate all kinds of comments, from full sentences to emojis to keysmashing. all refill my stamina bar. <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/greenywrites) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/greenywrites)


	2. all things yet to be done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year! i hope this chapter finds you safe and well. i decided we should kick off 2021 with more hot dad kuroo, so...enjoy!

Thirty kilometers out from the Sendai exit, Kuroo’s phone vibrates in the cup holder. He turns down the radio and glances at the caller ID. Brow quirked, he answers. 

“Iwaizumi!” he says, somewhat hushed. Akihana dozes in the backseat. “What’s up? Did Oikawa get arrested for trespassing again?” 

The man on the other end sighs. “No, but the day’s not over.” There’s a brief muffled noise, like he might be switching his phone to the opposite ear. “He _did_ mention you’re getting into town today.” 

“Sure am.” Kuroo grins, clocking another exit sign when it passes on the left. “I’m about twenty minutes from the exit. Maybe thirty from the house, traffic contending.” 

“I can help you unload,” Iwaizumi says, straightforward as always. 

Kuroo narrows his eyes, even though Iwaizumi can’t see him. “You’ve got free time on a beautiful, sunny Friday afternoon and you want to help me haul shit off a flatbed?”

“I’m ahead of schedule with a crew of able-bodied workers who take direction well,” Iwaizumi begins before a voice in the background cuts him off. 

“No we don’t!” they protest. A loud chorus of laughter bleeds through the phone speaker. Iwaizumi barks back a retort so scathing even Kuroo, who once played competitive sports with Yaku Morisuke, shrinks back in his seat. 

“As I was saying,” Iwaizumi grumbles, “these idiots are bored and I don’t have enough work for them to fill the rest of the day.” 

“I can manage alone,” Kuroo says, more out of habit. 

It doesn’t fool Iwaizumi. He sighs with the age-old patience of someone who started a business with a best friend also allergic to asking for help. “You said the same thing to your Tokyo friends, didn’t you?” 

“I had a one-bedroom apartment,” Kuroo protests, checking his blind spot before changing lanes, the silver length of the flatbed glinting in the afternoon sun. “There’s not that much stuff!” 

“Great!” Iwaizumi’s smug satisfaction is unmistakable. “Then it won’t take long. And I can get away from Tooru for a few hours.” 

“Ahhhh.” Now it’s Kuroo’s turn to grin. He rests his elbow on the window, thumb tapping out a beat against the steering wheel. “How goes the installation?” 

_“Exactly_ on schedule, but you know how he gets,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “If I have to listen to him fuss over mulch for another hour I’m going to bury him in it.” 

Kuroo hums in sympathy; he does know, quite intimately. One does not room with Oikawa Tooru for four years of undergrad without witnessing the impact his passion has on him. Kuroo has never met anyone who cares about his work more than Oikawa — except perhaps Bokuto and his unwavering commitment to volleyball — and while Oikawa’s drive is inspiring, it’s also lowkey scary. Too intense for most people to navigate, but that’s why he has Iwaizumi. An unshakable mountain in the eye of Oikawa’s brilliant hurricane. 

“Well,” Kuroo says with mock reluctance, “I suppose I could accept, as a favor to a friend in need…” 

“Whatever, shithead,” Iwaizumi huffs goodnaturedly. “What’s the address?” 

Laughing, Kuroo rattles off his block and house number. Iwaizumi agrees to meet there and hangs up, off to rally his crew. Kuroo tosses his phone into the passenger seat. He glances in the rearview mirror, a soft smile pressing into his cheek. 

Akihana is _out,_ body slumped against the car door. A plush pillow shaped like a clamshell cushions her face against the window glass. Blueish purple candy coloring stains the skin around her mouth and chin; a single ringlet curl sticks to her cheek. There’s nothing left of her snack spoils except the plastic rings around her fingers. She snores lightly, mouth slack, unbothered by the noise of the road or the phone call. 

She looks peaceful, but Kuroo doesn’t want her to sleep too long. Already, he anticipates some bedtime ups and downs. The new house and an unfamiliar space will be stimulating enough without the extra energy of a prolonged nap. 

“Akihana.” Eyes on the road, he reaches back and nudges her knee. “Hey, jelly. Wake up.” 

She kicks her leg instinctively, squirming as she rubs her eyes. “Are we there yet?” 

“Almost.” Kuroo points towards the passenger side window. “Look. That sign says ‘Sendai.’”

Akihana squints against the bright sun and frowns. “Tou-san, I can’t read.” 

It takes him a moment to swallow down his laughter, disguising it as an exaggerated, “Hmmmmm,” as he pretends to think. Eyes glinting, he smiles at her over his shoulder. “I want to know how many signs we drive by before we get to the new house. Can you help me count the signs instead?” 

“Okay!” Akihana returns his smile with her own determined grin. “But no slacking!” 

Where did she learn _that_ word? Resolving to send Yaku a strongly worded message, Kuroo nods his head and promises, “Never! Look, here we go. One!” 

“One!” 

The game carries them into town. Sendai is charming and green — tree-lined streets and numerous parks sprawled below as the highway winds down into the river valley. The Forest City, not just in name. Gone are the massive skyscrapers and clustered buildings, congested sidewalks and loud intersections. Sendai hugs the western mountains, sloping down to picturesque Sendai Bay, rustic and _alpine_ in a way that Tokyo simply isn’t. Kuroo drinks in the sight of the trees and the shrines and the greenspaces along the Natori River and finds it easier to breathe, a genuine lightness swelling in his chest. 

The new house is in Taihaku-ku, the southernmost ward. He exits the expressway, both hands on the wheel as he leans forward to peer up at street signs. It’s been almost a month since his one and only prior visit to Sendai, a weekend solo trip to finalize his transfer, apply for a work study, and sign the lease on a house he’d only seen in photos. Was it a little nerve-wracking? Sure. But Miyagi University’s family housing was too small. He wanted something bigger, with a yard. Akihana deserves that. 

He drives through the vaguely familiar district, turns down a more familiar street — and there, at the far end of the road right where it curves to the south, is home. 

A small beige house with a bright red door and quaint brown shutters sits back from the road, tucked between an overgrown hedgerow and a pair of plum trees. A weather-worn wooden fence divides the property from the field behind it. Beyond the field, the small Zaru River. Beyond that, the towering, verdant sprawl of Kongosawa Nature Reserve. 

The lawn needs attention, the windows need washed. But it belongs to _him_ . To _them._

“We made it!” he crows happily, pulling up along the curb and killing the engine. 

Akihana has her nose against the glass, eyes round as pewter coins. “There are only two floors.” 

He laughs. “It’s shorter than the old building, but _all the rooms_ belong to us.” 

He spies a familiar truck parked further up the street. “Do you remember Iwaizumi-san?” 

This is a longshot. When Kuroo finally got his own apartment, he remained friends with Oikawa and Iwaizumi even as they went to separate universities for grad school. Most of their time spent around Akihana was during her first year, before their rigorous landscape architecture program took Iwaizumi overseas and sent Oikawa traveling through South America. They dropped by her third birthday party, but that was the infamous Inflatable Bouncy House Incident. Kuroo doesn’t even remember much about that party, beyond the hours he spent bailing Bokuto and Lev out of jail while Akihana ate a cupcake in the car. 

“Iwashumi?” 

“I-wa-i-zu-mi,” he sounds out, giving a thumbs up when she repeats it back haltingly. “He’s a friend of mine. He’s gonna help us unpack the truck.” 

Down the road, Iwaizumi steps out of his truck, followed by a handful of other muscle-bound people. Kuroo waves and calls a greeting as he swings the travel bag over his shoulder. Akihana unbuckles her seat and bounces impatiently as he opens the door and crouches down, already digging out the wet wipes. 

“Can I go inside the house?” she asks, peering over his shoulder. 

“Almost. Face, please.” She tilts her face upwards, eyes squeezed shut. With a steadying grip on her chin, he wipes the tacky sugar off her cheeks. “Hands next.” 

“I can do myself,” she says, tugging a new wipe from the pack. Kuroo pokes her in the nose with his wipe, pretending to scrub her forehead and grinning when she shrieks. 

A broad shadow falls over the pair. Iwaizumi stands on the sidewalk, half-smile twitching on his face. He’s more tanned than the last time Kuroo saw him in person, his hair shorter but no less spiky. He stands with his hands in his pockets, sleeves rolled up to his elbows; a comforting sight in a brand new place. 

“Iwaizumi.” Kuroo pushes to his feet and snags the shorter man into a hug, smacking his shoulder firmly. “Good to see you, man.” 

“You too.” Iwaizumi returns the embrace. Kuroo doesn’t need to see the eyeroll to know it’s happening. When they step apart, Iwaizumi looks over his shoulder and beckons his crew forward. “Pop the flatbed and show us where you want things.” 

A tall person with a rose gold dye job and an eyebrow piercing presses their palms together as they walk past, pleading with mock solemnity. “Take your time. Drag it out. We are truly in no hurry to get back.” 

An even taller person with lazy eyes shoves them onward with a snort, trailed by a younger guy with an undercut and a tanned man with an earnest face who smiles politely at Kuroo. Lingering towards the back of the group is a man with the strangest haircut Kuroo’s ever seen: bleached blonde and buzzed with black stripes curved around the side of his head. He’s got busted knuckles and a neck tattoo and a scowl like he swallowed a nail. He slouches past without making eye contact with anyone. Iwaizumi opens his mouth like he wants to say something — 

Without warning, Akihana leaps out of the car. Her shoe catches on the curb and she goes flying face-first onto the sidewalk. 

Or she would have, if Tennis Ball didn’t swoop down before Kuroo himself could even jerk into motion, catching her with two steadying hands around her shoulders. 

He freezes, yanking his hands away and staring down at Akihana like she is some kind of unexpected alien visitor. Akihana stares back, head tipping slowly to the side as her curious eyes dart to all his various accessories — the leather bracelets, the chain around his neck. She frowns and points at his feet. 

“Your socks don’t match.” 

Kuroo cranes his neck to look. Sure enough, the right sock is orange with shiba inus while the left sock is blue with golden retrievers. Unexpectedly _preppy_ for a dude with last night’s eyeliner smudged around his waterline. 

Tennis Ball glowers, challenging. “So?” 

“Do you like dogs?” 

The glower melts into confusion. “...yeah?” 

Akihana beams, full of teeth. “Me too!” 

Tennis Ball sends a halfway helpless look to Iwaizumi, who is too busy laughing into his fist. He is spared the pressure of replying by the grace of a four-year-old attention span. Shutting the car door with both hands, Akihana runs over to Kuroo, her almost-fall and odd encounter already dismissed with the resilience only small children possess. 

She grabs onto Kuroo’s hand, tugging on it as she asks, “Tou-san, can we get a dog?” 

“Let’s focus on moving in first, okay?” he replies, pulling the key to the flatbed out of his pocket. He tosses it to Tennis Ball, who catches it effortlessly. Kuroo gives him a casual nod. “Thanks, man. Nice reflexes.” 

The lazy-eyed man with the bushy eyebrows leans around the corner of the truck. “Kyoutani, you coming?” 

“Yeah,” Tennis Ball — Kyoutani says, giving Akihana one last glance before he joins his coworkers. Moments later, the grating sound of the truck hatch rolling upwards cuts through the spring afternoon. 

Kuroo shakes his hand to get Akihana’s attention, nodding towards Iwaizumi. “Can you say hello?” 

His daughter rocks on her heels and waves. “Hello, Iwa….shimi.” 

Iwaizumi grins. “Hey, kiddo. You can call me Iwa.” 

She nods agreeably. “Okay.” Tugging on Kuroo’s hand again, she pouts imploringly. “Let’s go see the house!” 

Kuroo spares a glance at Iwaizumi. The other man grins and waves them off, stepping away to oversee his crew. Turning his full attention to his eager child, Kuroo singsongs, “Whatever you say, boss,” and lets her pull him by the arm up the front walkway. 

The concrete path cuts a lopsided line through the front yard, broken here and there by mossy ground cover that smells sharp and earthy under the sun. A small wooden porch frames the front door. Kuroo fishes out the house key, already in place on his keychain next to the old Organization XIII charm Kenma gave him when he was eleven. 

The key fits smoothly into the lock; the deadbolt flips with a satisfying thunk. Kuroo swings open the door. Hand in hand, they step inside.

The house is narrow, more length and height than width. The tiled genkan gives way to an open kitchen, granite counters and pine cabinets interrupted only by older but serviceable appliances. There’s plenty of floor space, perfect for a small table or a rug. Beyond the kitchen, the laminate floor gives way to the sun-faded wood of the communal living area. A wide, tall sliding glass door dominates the far wall, letting wide swatches of dusty sunlight pour into the unoccupied space. 

The whole first floor is a long, open gauntlet; Kuroo can stand in the entryway and see straight through to the backyard and the fence beyond. High ceilings and neutral paint and light from the tall windows make the space feel huge. Peaceful, but full of potential. 

Kuroo slips his hand out of Akihana’s and nudges her forward with a broad palm in the middle of her back. “What do you think?” 

She doesn’t answer immediately, inching forward to peer at the cabinets, the high ceilings, her own reflection in the oven door. Kuroo leans in the doorway and watches her slow inspection, feeling his own heart lurch sideways in his chest. 

By the time Kuroo Tetsurou was nine years old, he had moved seven times. Before the divorce, there were a couple different rental homes in industrial towns around Kanto; his lower middle class parents relocating as the job market demanded, taking their children with them. After the divorce, Kuroo and his father were half a family that needed half the space. The subsequent series of apartments and sublets all blur together. 

He could pull several memories out of his own childhood, hold them up like Polaroids in comparison to now. Unlocking a new door. The blank smell of a vacant space. The first footprints on disused flooring.

His dad’s hand on his own back, steering him into his grandparents house — the last place they would ever live together. 

Kuroo will never forget the smell, the unique blend of kitchen cleaner and cheap candles and beneath that, tobacco smoke seeped so deeply into the curtains and furniture no amount of air freshener could mask it. He will never forget the smell or the sour feeling in his chest. He didn’t cling to his dad or look around in wonder. He dragged his beat-up suitcase into his new room and shut the door.

Akihana calls his name; he jolts, drops the memories and lets them scatter. Akihana stands at the far end of the house, pointing out the tall glass door. 

“I saw a bunny!” Excitement lights up her round face, makes her grey eyes twinkle. 

“Oh?” Kuroo crosses the length of the house and scoops her up. “We live close to the forest now. We’ll probably see a lot of animals. Deer, foxes, new birds, new bugs.” 

“What about fish?” she asks, wiggling in his grip. She’s restless after the long drive, plucking at his jacket. 

Kuroo shifts her weight to one arm and points beyond the fence line. “There’s a river nearby. When it’s warm enough, I’ll show you how to catch frogs.” 

“Did you catch frogs when you were little like me?” 

He grins. “Sure did.” 

“That’s hard to imagine.” Iwaizumi’s voice echoes from the genkan. He hoists a large box effortlessly over one shoulder. “You sure you didn’t push the other kids into the creek and steal their frogs?”

“Hey!” Kuroo protests, pressing one hand across Akihana’s ear and guiding her head down until the other rests on his shoulder. “Do not mislead my child with your slander! In my own house!” 

Iwaizumi shrugs. “It’s not slander if it’s true.” 

Pink Hair follows behind him. “Is spoken defamation slander or libel? I can never remember.” 

Undercut adjusts the box in his arms so he can read the label on the side. “Which room is...Aki Room?” 

Akihana successfully shoves off his hand, red-faced and giggling. It’s impossible not to smile. Kuroo sets her down and points towards the staircase in the left hand corner. “That’s you, jellybean. Wanna go see your bedroom?”

It’s a lively, friendly chaos. Iwaizumi’s crew is diligent and hardworking, though prone to incredible feats of sarcasm. Not unexpected for people who choose to work with Oikawa. Iwaizumi tolerates their backtalk with his usual ease as long as they stay on task. With the five-person crew and Iwaizumi himself under Kuroo’s guidance, the flatbed empties and the house fills with _things:_ books, vinyl records, toys, plastic tubs of winter gear, mismatched dishes, the exceptionally ugly lamp Kuroo bought on a dare and kept out of spite. It takes three people to get the couch through the door but they make it, exchanging fist bumps and high fives when the inconveniently broad piece of furniture is at last in place. 

The hunt for his toolbox distracts Kuroo. When he finally delivers the requested screwdriver to Iwaizumi — graciously assembling the new bedframe still packed flat in its box — Kuroo realizes he hasn’t seen Akihana in at least twenty minutes. 

Sensing his concern, Iwaizumi points across the hall. “She’s with Makki.” 

Akihana’s bedroom is the smaller of the two, but with bigger windows, facing the plum trees in the side yard. A collection of boxes sit in one corner. Makki — Pink Hair — sits in the middle of the floor, surrounded by plushies. They listen with an amused half-smile as Akihana babbles, arranging her collection in a line along the bare wall where her new bed will go when it’s delivered tomorrow. 

Makki giggles. “Wait, why doesn’t the octopus go with the rest of the sea creatures?” 

“He’s mad at Ika-kun,” she explains, pointing to a dark blue squid. “Ika-kun ate all the snacks.” 

“What!” Makki exclaims. “Cancel that nonsense. Goodbye, Ika! Move him to the corner, honey.” Their voice and movements are big, playfully exaggerated. Akihana laughs, hurrying to exile the poor squid. 

Kuroo catches Makki’s eye and gives a questioning thumbs up, ready to rescue them. Not every near-stranger is cool getting stuck on kid duty. Makki flashes a peace sign and turns to listen when Akihana brings them a horse with a glittery mane the same rosy pink as their hair. 

When things finally wind down, Kuroo fishes out his wallet and offers to order pizza. Iwaizumi firmly declines. 

“Enjoy the night in your new house. Especially now that you have time,” he emphasizes, gesturing broadly to the living room, “since your things are so _helpfully_ unloaded.” 

Kuroo rubs his neck, sheepish. It’s true — the truck is empty. The crew even unpacked common areas like the kitchen, living room, and bathroom. Shelves are hung, all the lightbulbs work; the new furniture Kuroo hoarded in the closets back in Tokyo is all assembled. Kyoutani even gruffly offered to drive the flatbed back to the rental company’s Sendai branch, accepting the car keys with a heavy frown that Kuroo learns is just how his face looks. 

There is still plenty to do, but tonight? They can just live. 

“Thanks, Iwaizumi,” Kuroo says. “It means a lot.” 

His friend doesn’t gloat; just rolls his eyes with the fond exasperation that says _you’re stubborn but I’m used to it_. “Text Tooru when you get the chance. He’s dying to show you the site.” 

“Yeah, of course. Can’t wait to see it.” Angling his head towards the stairs, he yells. “Akihana! Come downstairs and say goodbye!” 

They send off the crew with bows, gratitude, and courtesy of Akihana, stickers on the backs of their hands. Kyoutani returns with the car just in time for Akihana to carefully peel off and apply a sparkly beagle to the skin above his bruised knuckles. 

“Thank you, dog man!” 

“O-Okay?” Kyoutani says. Iwaizumi smacks the back of his head, and he adds, “You’re welcome.” 

They wave at the truck as it drives off and then — it’s just them. 

Dinner is stove top ramen, eaten on the couch. Kuroo keeps the bedtime routine as normal as he can: a shower, a soak in the tub with bath toys, a glass of warm milk while he dries her curls. Since their new mattresses won’t arrive until tomorrow, they spend one last night on their futons. Rolled out side by side near the back door, they lay with their pillows near the glass. It’s clear enough to see the stars, diamond-bright in the thawing spring sky. 

Akihana pulls her blanket up to her chin. Tonight her companions are a cerulean blue rabbit and a small gacha machine turtle positioned on the futon beside her. Kuroo watches with a soft grin as she fights to keep her eyes open. 

“I’m proud of you,” he says quietly. “We had a long day. Ready to get some sleep?” 

She frowns, lips twisting into a sleepy pout. “It’s too quiet.” 

Kuroo agrees. It’s different without the constant noise and hustle of a city of millions pressing against the walls. Here in the country, there’s sky and fields and wide open space. In summer the bugs will bring a new kind of clamor. He wonders if she’ll like the susurration of crickets and cicadas, or if it will be too grating and unusual. He likes that they get to find out. 

For now, he says, “I’m here. Just like always.” 

She yawns and rolls over to face the wall, bunny hugged tight against her chest. “Goodnight, Tou-san.” 

“Goodnight, bean.” 

Kuroo rubs her back until she starts to snore before flopping onto his stomach and shoving his head under his own pillow. He’s tired, the content and satisfied kind, but his mind won’t yet rest. It keeps him up for a long while, thinking about things already done, things that can never be done again — and all things _yet_ to be done. Plans and promises whir through his thoughts until he burns out, and at last sleeps.

# 

The restlessness persists. Despite his struggles falling asleep, Kuroo wakes the next morning with a humming in his joints. Akihana sprawls sideways, head on his futon and legs on the floor. She hardly stirs as he climbs to his feet, so he lets her sleep. He putters through the cabinets — bless Iwaizumi for prioritizing the coffee machine — and ends up on the couch with a huge mug of magic bean juice, a memo pad, and his ever-running thoughts. Several lists later, the cushion beside him indents. A sleepy-eyed Akihana elbows her way into his lap. 

“Why, good morning,” he says with a laugh, smoothing back her hair. 

She pushes his hand away, fussy in her half-asleep state. “I want breakfast.” 

Kuroo glances towards the kitchen, assessing their supplies. He packed a few boxes of dry goods, but _grocery store_ is on top of today’s list. 

“How about...toast?” 

She squints, dubious. “With jam?” 

“What?” he gasps, playfully affronted. Setting aside his coffee, he launches to his feet, tossing her over his shoulder. “Jam? In our kitchen?”

She bursts into happy giggles, smacking his back and chanting, “Jam! Jam! Jam! Jam!” The house fills with laughter, and birdsong, and the click of tree branches against the roof.

The first day is for unpacking and furniture deliveries. Kuroo focuses on Akihana’s room: her new bed with its new sheets, her posters and books, her toybox, her closet of colorful clothes. The first night in her own room goes better than he expects. She reclines smugly in her nest of pillows and plush friends, pleased to have her own space. It’s harder for Kuroo to leave her than it is for her to fall asleep. 

He crawls into his own bed and only wakes once, when a small cold hand pats his cheek. 

“Aki?” He blinks awake, peering through the dark. Her round face peers back at him from where she hovers by the edge of the bed. “What’s up?” 

“Just checking,” she explains, patting his cheek again. 

He smiles under her little soft palm. “I’m still here.”

“The hallway is too dark.” 

“Hmmmm, I see.” He throws back the covers and heaves himself up. “I’ll protect you. Let’s get comfy again.” 

On the second day, they stop by the store again to pick out a nightlight: a dreamy jellyfish that casts the hallway between their rooms in a soft lavender glow. On the second night, they both sleep a little easier. 

The next day, Kuroo wakes around sunrise to several unread messages chiming on his phone. Some appear to be drunk texts from Yaku that are frankly unintelligible, so he screenshots and then deletes them. The last one is from Kenma. 

**Nyanma** **(Φ ω Φ)** **  
**[loz_dawnofthethirdday.img]

 **Kuroo**   
ominous   
do u know something i dont?

 **Nyanma** **(Φ ω Φ)** **  
**objectively, yes  
lots of things

 **Kuroo** **  
**woooOOOOooow  
didnt know u could wake up this early   
  
**Nyanma** **(Φ ω Φ)** **  
**bold of you to assume i’ve slept

 **Kuroo** **  
** <(￣ ﹌ ￣)>   
thats not good for u!!

 **Nyanma** **(Φ ω Φ)** **  
**ewww,, don’t dad me

 **Kuroo**   
kenma!! so sassy!!   
u must miss me 

**Nyanma** **(Φ ω Φ)** **  
**eat shit

 **Kuroo**   
(˘⌣˘) ♡

He locks his phone and smirks. 

Rising out of bed, yearning for coffee, he hunts for his house slippers and nearly trips on a box near the foot of the bed. That’s right — he spent an hour last night after Akihana’s bedtime, sorting through his personal things. 

There’s a box of keepsakes: souvenirs from Bokuto’s away games, video game merch from Kenma, a growing collection of awful postcards from Yaku’s travels. 

Next to that, there’s a document box filled with pictures. 

The Tokyo apartment didn’t have the room to hang lots of photographs, but Kuroo collected them anyway in preparation for the day when he could cover a wall in memories. (Or, per Kai’s suggestion, finally learn to scrapbook.) The box is open, photos in neat stacks on the floor, though his near-trip sent the stacks tipping sideways. 

He crouches to correct them. 

There’s a substantial collection of Akihana throughout the years: birthdays, first steps, doctor’s visits and dinner times. In the bathtub with a bubble mohawk. On Bokuto’s shoulders, pointing at signs in Ikebukuro. Eating ice cream with Yaku. Less than a year old, on the couch next to Kenma, mashing buttons on a broken controller with an expression just as serious as the professional gamer’s. 

There are fewer photos of Kuroo before fatherhood: at the beach on spring break with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Snowboarding with Bokuto, cheeks red and smiles wide. Nekoma graduation day with Yaku and Kai, Kenma sullen in the background. Kuroo and Nekomata-sensei, at Kuroo’s final practice. The old coach holds one of Kuroo’s hands in both of his own while Kuroo tries (and fails) not to cry. 

There is a very small pile of exactly four pictures — the ones Kuroo struggles to look at but could never toss out. 

Chiho, two months after they started dating, sitting at a table in the corner of the campus coffee shop and smiling over her mug. Kuroo keeps this one for Akihana only, so if the day comes when she asks to see her mother, Kuroo has something to hand her. Only if she asks, if she wants to see where she inherited her warm brown skin and riotous curls. If she wants to compare their smiles. 

Kuroo and Kenma, the first summer Kuroo lived in Nerima, covered in mud and holding volleyballs. Kenma is exhausted but stares down at the ball with a calculating glint in their eyes. Kuroo cherishes this photo because of _that look_ — physical documentation of the moment his friend got curious about sports. He hates this photo because of himself. Kuroo Tetsurou, age nine, looks like he hasn’t laughed in months and forgot he could. 

Kuroo’s father, sitting on the porch of his parents’ house. He holds a beer up to his mouth, mid-sip, glancing sidelong at the photographer with mild amusement in his gaze. Their similarities never fail to twist Kuroo’s gut. The same hair, narrow eyebrows, the troublemaker’s grin. Same loping arms bent crooked on long legs. There a book cracked open, held loose in his father’s free hand. It’s impossible to make out the title. In all of Kuroo’s memories, his father is exhausted, downtrodden, overworked. Here and only here, he’s relaxed. Human, in a way he never was with his son. 

Finally, a photostrip from a booth at the mall. 

A girl and boy with the same thick, unruly hair. Her eyes are green while his are grey but they share a mischievous twinkle. Both kids are missing teeth, grinning open-lipped at the camera and pointing to their matching gaps. The girl is taller, older. Her hand rests protectively on the boy’s shoulders. 

On the back, Kuroo traces the worn and familiar kanji, pressed into glossy paper in fading blue ink: 

花澄と鉄朗2002年  
 _Kasumi & Tetsurou, 2002 _

There’s a rustling across the hall, followed by the soft murmurs of Akihana greeting her stuffed animals. Kuroo packs away the smallest stack. There’s not a picture frame or wall hook in the world strong enough to bear the weight of those memories. 

He’s down in the kitchen whisking eggs when Akihana appears, the ears of her bunny slippers flopping with every step. She stalls at the bottom of the stairs, twisting her hands in the front of her nightgown as she peers around the room. It looks more like a home and less like a place where they crash-landed; the couch and entertainment center fully set up, a new rug on the floor, their small but sturdy dining table right where the kitchen gives way to the living room. 

Old things in new places. The beginnings of permanence. 

Akihana has done well so far, rolling with the changes, but Kuroo’s been waiting — wondering when the novelty would wear off. He slows his whisking, watches carefully as her chin begins to tremble. 

“Can Bo-ji take me to the park today?” 

His heart cracks. It’s a fight to keep his smile warm and encouraging. “Bo-ji is in Tokyo, pumpkin.”

“Still?” 

“That’s where he lives.” Kuroo towels off his hands and walks over to the fridge. He crouches down and opens his arms, beckoning her over. She joins him with a sniffle, leaning her weight on his chest. 

Pinned to the fridge door is a map of Japan, zoomed in on Honshu. Tokyo and Sendai are circled in red, a neat line drawn between them. “Look. Here is Bo-ji, and here is us.” 

With his thumb on Tokyo and his index on Sendai, he lifts his fingers off the paper as if examining the distance between two points. “See? Not so far away. Just a small pinch.” 

Akihana looks at his hand, then at the map, still frowning. “He can live with us.” 

Kuroo squeezes her, turning his nose into her hair. Bless this sweet-hearted child. “Oh?” he asks, light-hearted and curious. “Is Bo-ji gonna share your room?” 

Akihana very quickly shakes her head, shoving her hands against Kuroo’s chest. “No! Your room!” 

He shudders. “No thank you. Bo-ji is _very_ messy. And he snores like a monster!” 

Tickling her sides, he blows a raspberry on her cheek. She laughs, and Kuroo grins. “Bo-ji will come visit soon. Until then, we should send him lots of pictures.” 

Akihana brightens. Kuroo grabs his phone, opens the camera, and flips to selfie mode. Akihana throws her arms around his shoulders, knocking her head against his chin. She yells, “Cheese!” and Kuroo does his best to keep the phone steady as he laughs. Her wide goofy smile dominates most of the picture, Kuroo’s lopsided grin and day-old stubble visible in the background. He loads it into an editing app and they make changes together, adding a few colorful stickers and the caption ‘good morning, Bo-ji!’ before deeming it perfect. 

Kuroo hits send and climbs back to his feet with a groan. “Wash your hands, monkey. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“What are you making?” she asks, drifting closer to the stove. 

He picks up the whisk. “Omelets.” 

“Just omelets?” 

“And rice and sausages,” he says. She still looks unconvinced. Shrugging nonchalantly, he adds airily, “Well, that’s what I’m going to eat. But, I guess if you don’t want to grow big and tall like me…” 

Feet scurry across the floor. He glances over in time to see her pull out her step stool from under the sink and scamper up, pumping entirely too much soap into her small, cupped hand.

Later, standing side by side in the bathroom, Akihana pauses brushing her teeth to ask, “Are _you_ gonna take me to the park today?” 

Kuroo snorts, glancing sidelong — Akihana’s _brushing_ is little more than smearing child-friendly toothpaste around her mouth, but hey. Close enough. He tucks his own toothbrush into his cheek and replies, “Even better. Gonna go see Iwaizumi and Oikawa. They _build_ parks.” 

Her eyes get huge. Kuroo grins. “We have to make one stop first. Got to go to my new school and talk with one of my teachers.” 

“Then Iwa’s park? Will his family be there?” 

Kuroo thinks of move-in day, how jovially the crew joked and teased each other. It wasn’t unlike the dynamics between himself and Yaku, Bokuto — and the rest of their own family. He wonders what Oikawa and Iwaizumi would think of the comparison. 

“Maybe. Everyone might be working, though. Like when we go see Yaku-ji use his camera.” 

She pops her toothbrush out of her mouth and holds a finger to her lips. “Quiet.”

“Yeah, we’ll be quiet.” He huffs in amusement. Any worksite with Oikawa as the overseer isn’t going to be particularly silent. 

They keep brushing until it’s hard to speak around their mouthfuls of foam. Akihana counts down and they lean forward in unison to spit. She laughs through it — more toothpaste ends up on the counter and mirror than the sink. But she gallops off to get dressed with a smile on her face, so. Small victories. 

#

Miyagi University’s Taihaku campus is a seven minute drive from the house. Kuroo finds a spot in the visitor parking lot with ten minutes to spare. Flipping down the visor, he gives himself once last once over, scrubbing his fingers through the soft fuzz of his sidecut where it arcs over his left ear. He combs through the fade as it thickens into his trademark wavy bedhead, spiking out to the right. He has his glasses on today because they make him feel especially studious — and he’s still waiting for his next shipment of contacts. Until then, he’ll milk the hipster grad student look if it gives him a little extra confidence. 

“Ready?” he asks Akihana as he holds open her door. She climbs out and fusses with her bright maroon overalls, twisting the bib into place over the striped shirt underneath. She nods. 

Adjusting the strap of his bag across his chest, Kuroo takes her hand and smiles. “Let’s go.” 

The Sports Psychology Department is housed on the top floor of a small modern building tucked between the performing arts hall and the College of Journalism. Spring term does not begin for another ten days, so the lobby is mostly empty. They walk past quiet lecture halls, dark classrooms, fully stocked vending machines. It’s almost spooky, the absent feeling of a place that should be crowded but isn’t. Akihana stays pressed to his side as they wait for the elevator to take them up. 

It arrives, and they board. Kuroo hits Level 3 and smiles to himself when Akihana automatically reaches out to press it again. 

The third floor is busier than the first. Faculty offices line one side of the hallway, many doors propped open as professors stop to chat with their colleagues or grab photocopies off the printer. The opposite side houses the main department office. Kuroo finds the door to the advising center, checks the time on his phone, and opens the door. 

Inside in a small but cozy reception area flanked by two even smaller offices. The desk right before him is unoccupied, the monitor screen dark. He can hear the sound of at least one person shuffling papers or typing on a keyboard. 

“Hello?” he calls. 

“Oh! Apologies!” A shorter man with a kind face steps out of a small office. He’s older than Kuroo by at least a decade but it only shows in the smile lines around his eyes. He wears a green polo with the university logo on the front pocket. “Our administrative assistant isn’t back until tomorrow. I’m Takeda Ittetsu. Are you Kuroo-san?” 

“Yeah, that’s me.” They shake hands; Kuroo has to look down to meet his gaze. In their email exchanges, Takeda is a competent and calm authority. Kuroo thought he would be taller. “Nice to meet you in person.” 

“Likewise!” Takeda smiles, then glances to the smaller human at his side. “And who is this?” 

Akihana scoots behind Kuroo’s legs. He puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Ah, sorry. This is my daughter. I don’t have a good lead on childcare in the area, and school’s not in session yet. I, uh, probably could have asked before bringing her? My bad.” 

Takeda crouches down and holds out his hand. “Hello! My name is Takeda-san.” 

Kuroo squeezes her shoulder. “Kuroo Akihana,” she says quietly. She doesn’t accept his handshake, keeping her grip firm on Kuroo’s pant leg. “I’m four.” 

Unbothered, Takeda takes back his hand and smiles. “Nice to meet you, Akihana-san. I am much older than four.” His laugh puts both Kuroos at ease. 

“She won’t interrupt,” Kuroo promises. 

Takeda rises from his crouch and points to a plush armchair shoved in the corner across from the vacant desk, next to a side table with a lamp and a plexiglass standee of handouts and brochures. 

“You can wait here while your father and I talk,” he says to Akihana. To Kuroo, he adds, “We can leave the door open, too. Take a moment if you need. My office is over here when you are ready.” 

With a parting wave to Akihana, he vanishes into the other room. Kuroo takes off his bag and kneels down, propping it on his knees to dig through. Akihana climbs into the chair. The seat is deep enough that with her rear against the backrest, only her ankles and feet hang over the edge. Kuroo unpacks a coloring book and a travel box of crayons. 

“Okay. I’ll be right in there,” he says, pointing clearly to Takeda’s office. “Don’t leave this room, okay?”

Akihana nods. “Can I have my snack?” 

“At the park, remember? Don’t you want to share with your friend Makki-san?” 

“Oh yeah.” Content to let it drop, she flips open the book and begins to dig through her coloring supplies. Kuroo smacks a kiss on her head. He stands, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans as he goes to join Takeda. 

The advisor’s office is sparse, minimalist. There’s a few wire trays filled with folders and mail, a neat row of books on the shelf above the desktop. A small but healthy aloe plant sits on the windowsill. Takeda points to the only open chair, a wordless invitation to sit. He closes a few browser tabs and then swivels to give Kuroo his undivided attention. “So, Kuroo Tetsurou. What brings you to our program at Miyagi University? You were previously at Todai, correct?” 

“Yeah.” Kuroo anticipated this question. He leans back in his seat. “I completed my first year at Todai before I dropped out to…” He trails off, glancing instinctively to where Akihana sits in the other room, tongue poked out as she focuses.

“To focus on family,” Takeda supplies helpfully. 

A half-grin tugs on Kuroo’s mouth. “Yes. But I would like to finish. I think it’s time. As for coming here — my mentor at the Todai program moved overseas in the time I was gone. I didn’t have anyone left at the program who knew me. It just didn’t feel right. I asked my old coach for his advice.” 

Understanding flashes in Takeda’s eyes. “Ah, Nekomata-sensei. He wrote one of your recommendation letters.” 

Kuroo flushes, expression gone soft with nostalgia as he thinks about Nekoma High’s wizened guardian. “He said an old friend of his used to run the program at Miyagi.” 

“Indeed. Ukai Ikkei. He retired about three years ago.” A fond smile blooms on Takeda’s face. “His grandson just hired on recently as an instructor.” 

“Oh?” Kuroo’s brow quirks upward. He tries to keep the eager curiosity out of his voice but it’s difficult when he notices Takeda playing with a ring around his finger. “It would be an honor to learn from him.” 

Catching himself, Takeda hastily separates his hands, laughing nervously. Kuroo wonders if there is a not-awkward way to put the older man at ease. Something more tactful than, _it’s cool, I’m bisexual._ Give it time, he decides. 

Clicking open a browser window, Takeda pulls up the university’s faculty portal. “Let’s take a look at your course load, then. Perhaps Ukai-san is teaching one of your sections.” 

The pair falls into a discussion. They’ve exchanged emails discussing transfer credits and Kuroo’s remaining curriculum, but it’s nice to connect face to face. Takeda elaborates on the main difference between Miyagi’s program and the program at Todai: the capstone practicum. 

“We want you to give our students some cultural context, you know?” he explains. “Collaborating with an organization within the community really helps you see all the things beyond the biophysical that impact a person’s performance ability. Especially in young people. Economic class, family situation, the neighborhood you grow up in…” 

Kuroo shifts in his seat. That hits close to home, and he clears his throat to say. “That’s why I chose this field, in general. Sometimes there are things beyond an athlete’s control. But if I could help them...lower the net? Play their best, despite the other stuff?” 

He considers his words carefully. “That’s..important work, to me. I guess,” he finishes, swallowing a wince at how uncertain he sounded. 

To his relief, Takeda merely smiles. “I think you’ll do well here, Kuroo-san.” 

Clicking around on the desktop, he turns to the printer in the corner as it lights up and spits out a few papers. He collects them, staples the corner, and passes them off to Kuroo. “Here’s a printout of your semester, contact info for your professors, and information on the daycare in the student union. Just in case that helps.” 

Kuroo blinks in surprise. “Oh, thanks. She starts kindergarten this year. Our schedules mesh this term but…” 

He glances through the doorway. Akihana is not in the chair. 

Quickly, he looks around. His brain registers Akihana sitting on the _floor_ , coloring book spread before her. Another adult crouches beside her — a man with dyed blonde hair slicked back in a headband and an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. Kuroo is already on his feet when he sees the man’s track jacket, the word FACULTY printed across the back. 

“Uh,” he says intelligently. 

Akihana looks up. “Sorry, Tou-san. I dropped my crayon.” 

“One sec,” the man says gruffly. He scoots the armchair away from the wall, reaches back, and pulls his hand back out with a single blue crayon pinched between his fingers. “This one?” 

Akihana takes it carefully and mumbles a shy thanks before returning her attention to the very blue landscape on her lap. 

Clearing his throat, Takeda scoots past Kuroo. When he sees the other man, his face jumps through about five different expressions before settling on exasperated. “Keishin,” he hisses, plucking the cigarette straight from his mouth and tossing it in the waste bin. “Honestly.” 

“Sorry,” the man mumbles. To Kuroo, he explains, “I’m trying to quit.” 

“That sucks,” Kuroo offers. It took him almost five months, his junior year of undergrad. “Good luck, man.” 

That sends the other man’s mouth quirking up. He extends his hand. “Ukai Keishin, assistant professor.” 

Kuroo takes it. “Kuroo Tetsurou, transfer student. I’m in your Mental Performance Counseling lecture.” 

Recognition flashes in Ukai’s eyes. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Nekomata’s student.” 

Pride and fondness burn through Kuroo’s chest. He scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, that’s me. It’s been about a decade since I was formally his student, though.” 

Ukai leans against the empty desk, more casual than Kuroo’s known a professor to be. “How is he? Enjoying retirement?” 

“I suppose.” Kuroo shrugs. “I hear he still shows up to practices at the high school every month or so. Just to watch.” 

That makes both Ukai and Takeda laugh. “Sounds just like Gramps,” Ukai says. “Doesn’t know how to stop. Who is coaching at Nekoma these days?” 

Kuroo sets his bag on the chair, in the middle of tucking his papers safely away when Ukai’s question makes him pause and think. “Ah, shoot. I forget his name. I think I have his business card in my car, though. My friend and I sometimes, uh, help with fundraising. I could grab it for you.” 

Takeda frowns. “Don’t let him inconvenience you.” 

“It’s fine. I parked close by.” He gestures to Akihana, still focused on her coloring. “Can she…?” 

Takeda waves his hand permissibly, patting Ukai firmly on the shoulder as he walks back into his office. “She’s fine. Right, Ukai-san?” 

Something in his tone makes the younger man flush pink. “Sure. I’ll watch her.” 

Kuroo nods, steps into the hallway. He _really_ needs the deets on _that_ relationship. Hopefully someone in his classes will spill the tea. 

Outside, the late morning sun warms the air, dries up the last remnants of morning dew. It’s the kind of spring day where he can feel winter finally lose its grip, the chill easing into a balmy briskness that refreshes his lungs. He almost doesn’t need his jacket; the plaid shirt and long-sleeved shirt are more than enough to keep him comfortable. When he reaches the car, he peels it off, shoving it in the passenger seat as he leans down to dig through the glove box. He digs through his registration, old napkins and receipts, and an _entire volume of One Piece_ — dammit Lev, he’s been hunting for this — before he digs up the business card in question. A little worn around the edges, with a questionable grease stain, but it will have to do.

Checking his phone, he swears. Fifteen minutes is a long time to leave your kid with two responsible but admittedly unknown adults who may or may not be romantically involved. A text from Bokuto catches his eye — a reply to the selfie from this morning, with his own image attached. 

Kuroo clicks on it, waiting for it to load as he jogs around the back of his car — 

“Oof!” 

He collides with another person — someone equally distracted and also _running_. The resulting impact is strong enough to send them both to their knees. 

“God, my bad,” Kuroo gasps, shaking the sting out of his palms. The other person, a young woman, has her hand pressed across her face. “Are you okay?” 

“My glasses.” 

He looks around — there are books scattered across the pavement between them. Amongst them, thankfully unharmed, he spies a pair of gold wire glasses, round and elegant. He plucks them off the pavement and offers them. “Here, I got ‘em.” 

She lowers her hand and slips the glasses back on, blinking rapidly to readjust. Their eyes meet. Kuroo feels all the words dry out of his mouth. 

The woman is gorgeous. 

His own astonished eyes bounce from pink cheeks to a dusting of freckles to pale hair falling in artful waves around a round face. A scowling mouth, a cute nose, and _wow_ , the prettiest honey-colored eyes he has ever seen. 

Damn.

Her scowl deepens. Oops, did he say that out loud?

“It’s rude to stare,” she snaps, shoulders in a tight line as she hurries to pick up the books between them. He scrambles to help, surprised to find they aren’t academic texts but picture books: _Snakes On The Job, Who Said Moo?, Petra, Sparkle Boy._ A dozen titles with vibrantly illustrated covers, some with huge pages and some small enough for small hands to hold on their own. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know the university has a picture book shortage,” he says. He’s clearly joking but something doesn’t land. Her glare could strip paint. 

She declines to respond, climbing to her feet. Kuroo does _not_ look at her legs — except yeah, he does, because her legs are miles long and perfectly highlighted by the short hem of her corduroy skirt, pale and smooth until they disappear into her thick socks and ankle boots and _oh god,_ he’s staring again — 

“You’re disgusting,” she informs him flatly. Kuroo hurries to stand but has no chance to respond before she shoulders past him, stomping quickly away. 

Kuroo spins in place, eyes stuck on her retreating figure, watching the sun turn her hair bright gold. She brushes dirt off her backside and he really should look away, but — well, he already made the worst impression ever, right? 

“Didn't even get her phone number,” he mutters sadly, soaking in one last look at the most beautiful stranger he’s ever seen before pocketing the business card, and going to fetch his kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaha silly kuroo.... good thing he'll never see her again, right? hahahaha...
> 
> thank you for reading! this author appreciates all types of comment, from emojis to keysmashing to full paragraphs. they all refill my stamina bar. <3 
> 
> until next time! 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/greenywrites) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/greenywrites)


End file.
